The true story
by unreal reality 56
Summary: Ara loves hearing stories of her people. But when she meets a character from the Trojan war he tells her the true story of Troy. r&r&u (read, review, and I'll update).
1. Uexplainable Hate

I look out the window and the sky comes to meet me.  
  
I see the stars and in the stars are the heroes in my father's stories, twinkling and shining brightly for the entire world to see. All of them, granted by the gods to make their majestic mark and be immortal.  
  
One day, I shall not join them. I will join them.  
  
I used to tell myself that when I was a girl. My pride was to be feared. Of course, I could also blame my father for it. He told me the most amazing stories of heroes that walked this same earth. I wanted to be one of those heroes that my father talked of.  
  
But I wasn't just interested in the wars and the battles. I was interested and amazed by the accomplishment of my fellow mortals.  
  
Little was I to know, that on one of those stargazing nights, I was to meet a character from one of my legends.  
  
"Ara!"  
  
I could hear my father call. He didn't know that I was still awake but it sounded urgent. Before I could tear myself away from my window, my father came bustling into my room with my cousin, Cyril.  
  
It was obviously urgent so I quickly lighted my lamp. They had with them a badly injured man. Before I could protest, they had put him on my bed. I shone the light on his face. From the corner of his forehead, blood was trickling down. I backed away and realized he was injured in a lot of places.  
  
They told me to fetch the basin of water to clean his wounds and the box of medicine and bandages.  
  
I left my lamp in the room and lighted some more around the house. I took one and filled a basin with water. I went to the shelf where our sheets, and cloths were to take one cloth for the basin. I quickly brought it to my room. Then, my father rushed me to get the medicine box. I came in quickly with it.  
  
I took the task of cleaning the stranger's wounds. I didn't like doing this at all. True, I wanted to fight in wars and all but all of this blood was making me sick. I do not want to describe all the medical things that happened that night for fear that you may end up vomiting. Because I did.  
  
All I can tell you is, the whole time was spent in haste. I was hoping Cyril and my father knew what they were doing. There were moments when I thought we'd already lost the injured man for he seemed to be dead. That night was one of the worse nights of my life.  
  
I don't want to continue about this night.  
  
All three of us woke up early that morning. We all sat at the table and fell asleep. We all wanted to be ready incase something was to happen to the injured man. Father had to go to the market to set up and Cyril would join him later. My father usually had breakfast at the market. Madame Aldara whom I would sometimes assist selling flowers with would give him food.  
  
I baked bread for breakfast. While I waited for the bread to cook, I got Cyril to tell me what happened.  
  
"Who is he, Cyril?" I asked. The sun shone through the windows and I could feel gentle warmth of it.  
  
"I don't know, your father and I saw him in nearby the house." He replied. He and father went to help a neighbor nearby. My house was in an area on the outskirts of our town. It was a bit dangerous since foreigners would usually pass by here first.  
  
When the bread was finished, I served it to him with wine. We prayed to Persephone first.  
  
I decided to check on the injured man. I put a tray of wine and bread on the desk in my room. He was still asleep. I took the basin of bloody water and came back with clean water and a clean cloth.  
  
Hoping to not wake him, I cleaned the remaining blood off. I started with the scar on his head. To my horror, he flinched and began to wake.  
  
He groaned and mumbled. He tried to lift his arms but it looked too painful to do so for him. His head must've hurt. I continued to clean his blood.  
  
I wanted to ask him questions but he was in too much pain. He had scars on his legs, arms and abdomen. He was a bloody mess last night.  
  
Then his eyes opened. He started lifting one of his hands. He mumbled something that I cannot write down in understandable words. I figured the distorted words meant he needed a drink.  
  
I quickly helped him sit up and he groaned in pain. Then I gave him the wine and then the bread. He wolfed it all down menacingly. I always thought that Cyril was a monster whenever he ate his food after a very very hard day at work. . .Cyril was no match for this man right now.  
  
He handed me back the cup and he lay back down. Even though he was badly injured, his face still remained bearable. In fact, he was a beautiful man as far as the men I've seen are. I've never seen anyone quite like him. I'd never imagined that such a man of beauty would be in my room. Men never paid attention to me.  
  
I managed to say, "I know your wounds hurt but they're on their way to healing."  
  
He looked me in the eye. I looked back. Then he turned over and fell asleep.  
  
From then on, I decided that I hated this man. I do not know why yet.  
  
The next day, I awoke at Cyril's bed. No one but the man was in the house. I do not know what gave them the thought to leave me alone here with a stranger.  
  
Anyway, It was raining outside. As if by some invisible force, I walked out into the rain. It felt refreshing and cool against my skin. As the rain seeped into my hair I felt like the waters of Mount Olympus were cleansing me.  
  
I went back inside the house.  
  
It was late in the morning. I cooked some picked vegetables from the garden Cyril and I tended to.  
  
I left it one our stove. I wasn't really hungry; it was for the stranger. I took the empty pails and went out of the house and to the well to fetch some water. It was still raining and I must've looked foolish. But we were out of water.  
  
I went back to the house.  
  
I put the pails down and ladled out a drink for me. I went to the stranger's room to check on him again.  
  
He was awake and surprisingly standing as if he wasn't injured. He had wrapped the new sheets used to replace the bloody ones around his waist. I had washed his clothes yesterday and he had nothing to wear. He was looking out from my window. A sudden feeling of violation surged into me. But I quickly waved it away. I was being foolish.  
  
I quickly tried to creep slowly into Cyril's room and borrowed one of my cousin's robes. I crept back slowly into my room. He was still at MY window. I noticed that he almost had the same look in my eyes. The same look I had when I stared out. Only he looked like he'd seen much more than me. He was looking for something, alright. . .I guessed not really the same thing as me.  
  
With a hint of pleasure, I interrupted his moment by tossing the robe to his head. He turned toward me. He didn't say a word.  
  
"You can wear that." I said.  
  
Still nothing.  
  
"Are you hungry?" I asked.  
  
He simply nodded.  
  
I don't why but I smirked, "Yes, well, I'll prepare something for you after you've changed. I'll meet you at the table."  
  
I left my room and prepared the food and drink.  
  
I sat there and waited for him. He finally came and he made Cyril's ordinary robe seem extraordinary.  
  
I hated him.  
  
He sat down and ate, surprisingly more meticulous at it this time. It must've been rude for me to just watch him but he didn't seem to mind.  
  
After he was done. He pushed away his plate and for the first time, I heard him actually speak.  
  
"Thank you." He said. His voice was as soft and as gentle as the wind.  
  
I hated him.  
  
I forced a smile and cleared the dishes.  
  
After I was done cleaning them. I sat back down in my spot across from him.  
  
I shot my first and direct question. I tried my best to be kind.  
  
"What is your name, stranger?" asked.  
  
He looked down at his hands as if his name was the hardest thing to remember. Just as I was considering to walk to away, he finally uttered a word.  
  
"Alexander. . .", he managed to mumble.  
  
I nodded.  
  
"But some address me as Paris." He finally added.  
  
Just then, my attention was caught. Paris? Could it be? Could he be the Trojan prince who led survivors out of the great city of Troy during its downfall? Could he be the Trojan prince who fell in love with the Spartan Princess Helen? If he was, it seemed impossible; this was all just some legend; the Trojan War and all.  
  
It couldn't be, maybe he was just a namesake.  
  
Like some idiot I couldn't help asking, "Paris of Troy? Paris, prince of Troy?"  
  
He looked at the ceiling, then into my eyes.  
  
"Yes." he answered.  
  
I hated him. Why, again? I do not know. 


	2. Don't believe in love

Cyril woke me up from my sleep. I had fallen asleep on our dining table. Alexander (I prefer to call him that) was asleep in my room.  
  
How rude, he just stood up and said that he needed some rest then he retired into MY room.  
  
"You're getting lazy, Ara." Cyril said.  
  
"Just because I rested a bit, doesn't mean I'm lazy." I shot back.  
  
"Shame on you, Ara. Your father and I go out to work and yet all you do here is nap." He said, with that annoying smirk still on his face.  
  
"For your information, Cyril," I said as-a-matter-of-factly, "I'm also up here babysitting and besides, I'm the only one who can take care of you and father. Knowing my mother is dead and you can't . . ."  
  
I suddenly ceased talking. There were 'reasons' as to why Cyril cannot marry.  
  
We stood in silence for a while. I looked up at him. Then, as if nothing happened, he patted my head playfully and went about his business. It was already late at night and I was too 'busy' to remember supper. Perhaps, Cyril was right about me getting lazy.  
  
So we dealt with the leftovers from this morning . . .Cyril wasn't happy.  
  
"Ara, you mentioned that the man came out from your room," my father said over his glass of honeyed wine, "Did he tell you anything about himself?" he asked.  
  
Then, just as everything in the world came in perfect timing, Alexander came in.  
  
"I told your daughter that my name was Alexander." He answered for me.  
  
"Where are you from, son?" my father asked.  
  
Alexander sat down, "I've forgotten . . ." he sighed as Alexander sat down with us, "But I would like to thank you all for your hospitality."  
  
Forgotten? Who was this man kidding? Didn't he say yes when I asked him if he was the legendary Paris? Yet now he says that he has forgotten his homeland? I did not get his game.  
  
My father poured him a cup of wine and said it was all not trouble at all.  
  
I don't know what gave me the confidence but I asked Alexander, "And is Alexander the only name you are called by?"  
  
He nodded. What was he doing? Was he mad? Maybe he was just fooling me when he said he was Paris.  
  
After our grim (according to Cyril) supper, Cyril and I went outside to look at the stars. We talked for a while about unnecessary things. Until I couldn't help but mention the slightly bizarre situation, "Cyril, I think Alexander is mad." I said.  
  
"Mad? Crazy? What makes you say this, Ara?"  
  
"Well, for one, this morning he told me he was-"  
  
Before I could say it the wind blew through me. The cloak I took with me to cover my shoulders fell to the ground. It was a 'private wind'. It was as if the gods had sent this wind just especially for me and I felt cold in it. It was whispering words of warning. I couldn't explain it but I knew I couldn't tell Cyril.  
  
"He was what?" Cyril's voice said, at the same time snapping me back to reality.  
  
I stood silent for a moment and made something up.  
  
"Um, well, he told also told me that he didn't know where he was from." I quickly added. Cyril looked at me as if I was the insane one.  
  
He picked my cloak up and put it back on my shoulders. "Let's go back inside, Ara." He said, as he took my cold hand into his warm ones. Cyril isn't really my cousin by blood.  
  
We went back inside, father scolded us for being outside too long. Then, he sent us all to bed but before we parted for the night, he promised to never leave me alone at home with the stranger. Alexander had gone to bed early again.

* * *

I lay awake that night, still scared from the mysterious wind.  
  
Lately, I have been doing things I wouldn't normally do. Well, tonight, I was doing something like that again. I crept out of bed and slowly into my room. There he was, in the dark. I moved closer. To my surprise his eyes were open. For a moment I thought that it was his corpse before me but he blinked.  
  
"You're not asleep." I whispered as I sat down on the floor next to my (let me remind you it was my room) bed. "All this time I bet you've never really slept." I added. I sounded like some upset child talking to her parent about a broken promise.  
  
"I never sleep." He simply said. Then he shifted away, facing away from me. I knew this was some stupid idea; in fact I wasn't even sure what my idea was. I stood up to leave but before I could he had shot me a question, his back still facing me,  
  
"What is your name?"  
  
"Ara. Ara daughter of Adolphos."  
  
"Sit down, Ara."  
  
I obeyed and sat back down to where I formerly was.  
  
"Why didn't you tell my father your real name?" I asked.  
  
"Ara, I couldn't. Nobody must know who I really am."  
  
"And why not? You are a great hero. Your story is heard even from here."  
  
"That's the problem. They tell these stories. These false stories."  
  
My full attention was caught.  
  
"False stories?" I asked.  
  
He turned to face to me this time. "Yes, false, a lot of the story that people tell each other is false. Especially the part about Helen and I."  
  
I grimaced. I came to a conclusion that he was simply a mad man who thought he was the epic hero. I decided to humour him.  
  
"Tell me the true story, Alexander.'  
  
He sighed, as if thinking whether he should tell me or not. Then, finally, an answer. "Maybe some other time, child." He said.  
  
Now I was a child. Too young to hear it all. I stood up disappointingly.  
  
Before I had actually left the room I heard him say, "All I can tell you is that, love is not real. It is an illusion. Don't believe in it."  
  
I turned back to face him. "I've never believed in love." I whispered. Maybe he didn't hear me but I'm sure Aphrodite did. But what would she care, she knew it already. Perhaps she even saw why. 


	3. Cassandra

On Troy:  
  
The true story that Paris tells Ara is THE actual story of Troy that the movie missed out on. Of course, I've added a few things to the true story. I will explain what is true and what is not true at the epilogue. But just to let you know, this is what the movie made A LOT of mistakes on.  
  
That morning, I went to the sea. After last night's talk I wanted to speak to Aphrodite. I didn't need some temple to pray along with the lovesick maidens of my town.  
  
I offered the best apple from our orchard to her and I burnt a stick of incense. Then, I knelt down and prayed.  
  
"Dear Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty,"  
  
I began.  
  
"Yes, I do not believe in love and it was the first time last night that I had uttered it within a room of a mortal soul."  
  
I closed my eyes and listened to the waves for some time.  
  
"But my life has clearly shown no use for love; in fact, it has shown me to avoid it at all cost. My father and Cyril need me. I do not know if you have watching, but I was once to be married, remember?"  
  
I sighed to take in a few breaths. It almost sounded as if I was talking to an aunt who was visiting.  
  
"Marriage does not really call for love. But my father and I wanted the man to not be in love with another woman. Well, my fiancée was struck by your spell, and to this day he and a married woman have been in love. We knew this but we also needed another man to work in the house. And this man also needed a family and a woman to take care of him so we took him in.  
  
"A few villagers still think we are engaged, making rumors and such. A certain few know that we never got married. But a majority simply thinks that he is a cousin, come to work and live with us. Oh, Aphrodite, after seeing Cyril become miserable because of love, yet become so strong and stay sane about his actions towards it, I'm afraid I cannot be that strong. I couldn't possibly face the troubles love brings."  
  
My eyes were still closed and I could almost hear something laughing and mocking me.  
  
"So I pray dear Aphrodite, that you grant me the gift to never fall in love."  
  
There, I had said it. Maybe she'll grant it, maybe she won't. I hope she will. Even if it was for her own amusement to grant it. I could imagine her saying right now, "Go back and take your offerings, girl. You are not some character in a legend as for me to grant such a wish only meant for the stories. Besides, no man has ever looked at you."  
  
I didn't imagine that. Or did I? Was that my own voice in my head making up the goddess' words? Because those words in my head were different from the usual words in my head.  
  
Was that how gods usually talk to mortals? In their head like a lost soul. In their heads like a silent soft teasing wind. A wind so strong and commanding.  
  
Then I heard that voice again.  
  
"I'll tell you what, mortal. I won't grant your wish but I will grant you something else. Yes, you won't fall in love for sure considering the elements of this spell. But I will not tell you bout your. . .gift or curse? Whatever you want to call it. But I can assure you that form what I've seen so far, you will not fall in love."  
  
Then the voice waited for my reply.  
  
I shook. She would give me something else but it guaranteed that I wouldn't fall in love. I stood up and opened my eyes. I asked her, "Aphrodite, why must I not know what you are granting me, here?"  
  
Her voice came back, "Ara, that will only make it more complicated. I'll give you a clue because I pity you. You won't fall in love because no man has looked upon you for love."  
  
I blinked at her clue. It didn't really take a god's powers for that. I mean, of course I won't fall in love because nobody is in love with me, that's always been me. Disappointed, I thanked her. And left the offerings that would later offer at the temple.

* * *

I went back inside the house. Most of the time father and Cyril were out of the house. Once again, I had to deal with the stranger. I knew father couldn't keep his promise.  
  
I went into my bedroom to find him at my window.  
  
It was silent for a moment. I decided that he didn't sense my presence but he did, and he told me to come look out the window with him. For some reason, I obeyed him again.  
  
We looked outside for some time until he broke the silence.  
  
"Ara?"  
  
"Yes, Alexander?"  
  
"You called me a great hero last night."  
  
"Well, I have always been fascinated by the accomplishments of my people from the stories I've heard. I guess I was quite shocked to meet one of these characters so the word, 'hero' slipped. But I do have a right, after all, you killed Achilles."  
  
He flinched.  
  
"I killed Achilles. Yes, that part of the story was true but don't you wonder how I knew where to shoot my arrow at him?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Through one of my sisters."  
  
"You had sisters?"  
  
"Yes, and lots of brothers. One of my sisters was the one who despised me most, Cassandra. Yes, a lot of people despised me for bringing the war upon them so it is quite queer for you to call me a hero."  
  
"Why did Cassandra hate you most of all?"  
  
"Cassandra was the odd one in my family. She claims to have visions of the future such as her twin, Helenus. Only her visions were always grim and nobody would believe her when she predicted it. Often we were embarrassed when a fisherman never came home from sea to his family due to her warnings."  
  
I put on a strange look. I have never heard of his other siblings. Cassandra? She seemed scary to me. A girl who could predict the horrible outcomes of the future. I shot him a question.  
  
"If you saw how her former predictions came true, why didn't you believe the next of her warnings?"  
  
"She was cursed. Some say that the god, Apollo was in love with her when she turned his courtships down so he cursed her. Now nobody will believe her."  
  
I stayed silent. Cassandra didn't seem to be an actual main part of the story but she interested me.  
  
"Did she hate you because you started the war?"  
  
"Yes, perhaps she did. But I am sure that she hated me even before that. In fact, it is also because of me she suffered a cruel fate and death."  
  
I sat down on my bed.  
  
I closed my eyes. "Tell me the true story, Paris." I said. It was the first time I called him that.  
  
He sat down next to me. He sighed, and then finally said, "You will hate me for this."  
  
"Perhaps." I replied, "But wouldn't it do justice to those others? Like Cassandra, whose death you are responsible for?"  
  
He sighed again, he does that a lot. It was as if I was a pesky little child  
  
He looked away from me for a while and then looked out the window from my bed.  
  
"Ara, the real story is full of depressing events and should not be told on a beautiful day such as this. But I am afraid you are right. It would do justice to those who have lost so much due to my mistakes." He said. 


	4. The True Story

  
Sorry, but this chapter kinda sucks. I rushed through it. I swear, I will never write like this again.  
  
-unreal reality 56

* * *

He told me the story of Troy. I wish to tell it to you in my own words.  
  
The goddesses, Aphrodite, Hera, and Athena were at a quarrel. Eris, the goddess of discord had placed an apple down before them. It wasn't just nay apple, it was a golden apple and it was said to be only for the most beautiful goddess.  
  
Well, the three got into a conflict and when Zeus proved unworthy to judge the contest, the turned to a mortal man named Paris Alexandrius.  
  
In came a bribe.  
  
The goddess, Aphrodite offered the mortal a deal. If he let her win she would give him the heart of the most beautiful woman in the world.  
  
He gave in to her offer.  
  
And so he tried to convince his father to allow him to take a ship to Sparta, knowing that Helen of Sparta was the most beautiful woman. But the king of Troy knew nothing of his son's real plans.  
  
Helen was married to king of Sparta, Menelaus and they had a daughter of four, named Hermione. When Menelaus greeted Paris at the docks it was love at first sight for Helen.  
  
So he stole her away. Away from all that she knew, away from her child and loving husband.  
  
Paris had stolen millions of women. This wasn't the first time he's charmed a mortal without even trying. But she was in love and she left all to be with him.  
  
Aphrodite had given her word.  
  
But Menelaus would of course, be enraged. Without going through the complicated matters, thus began the Great War that would last for seven years.  
  
But the people of Troy knew it deep within themselves that Paris would bring turmoil upon Troy.  
  
When he was born, many oracles, and even his sister Cassandra foretold the potential disaster. At that time they didn't know yet how the boy would send Troy into flames but they knew he was dangerous. So they left him in the forest to be eaten by wolves.  
  
But their plans unknowingly failed as a shepherdess found the baby and took him in. Years later, during these 'contests' that the royals of Troy and the commoners competed in, Paris showed up. Nobody knew he was the missing brother. So Paris defeated them all at all their contests.  
  
It was revealed then, after that that he was the long-lost son. The warnings of the seers were ignored and they took him back in.  
  
The war went on and on. Achilles killed the oldest brother, Hector for Hector had killed Achilles' cousin. Hector fell into his death. But Achilles was later to be killed by Paris.  
  
Paris perfectly hit Achilles' weakness, his heel. How did Paris know where to shoot the arrow? Achilles had revealed it to Paris' sister, Polyxena. Polyxena deceived Achilles and told Paris Achilles' weakness.  
  
A few days later, the Greeks left the Trojan shores only to find a gigantic wooden horse. The Trojans believed it to be a sacrifice to Poseidon and called it the Trojan horse.  
  
Cassandra of course, felt its deadly presence and told them to burn it. Nobody listened. Even during the festival when the people danced around the horse, Cassandra attempted to burn it only to be stopped by one of the Trojan princes.  
  
Helenus later found Cassandra and told her that the Greeks were inside the horse, ready to attack by nightfall when all of Troy was asleep. It turns out Helenus helped the Greeks build their horse. The Greek ships were still anchored somewhere on the islands of Troy. Helenus explained that his act of treachery was for the Trojans' own good. He believed that it was better for them to die fast and now rather than see them die slowly as they already were.  
  
The Greeks made a bargain with Helenus and they agreed to bring him to safety. Helenus and Cassandra's plan was to save Andromache (Hector's wife), Helen, Cassandra's sister, and Cassandra herself.  
  
Cassandra convinced Helen to return back to Menelaus and beg forgiveness. Cassandra and the others attempted to flee, only to be captured by Greeks and turned into slaves. Cassandra was said to be raped at the temple of Athena where she hid. She was later turned in to Agamemnon who used her as a concubine.  
  
Cassandra and Agamemnon were both killed by his wife with a single axe. Cassandra of course, had already foreseen this. At this point she must've given up on her life and didn't bother to care at all.  
  
People think that Paris had died in battle just a few days after he killed Achilles. Before the Trojan horse arrived.  
  
Helen went back to Sparta and ruled alongside Menelaus.  
  
Troy burnt into flames.  
  
In the stories I heard I always thought that there were actual survivors. That the ending of the story bore hope. 


	5. A Ghost

I lay down under an olive tree. The breeze washes over me. It has been three days since I've heard the true story.  
  
It is strange because no story has ever affected me in such a way. Maybe it was the fact that it was Paris who had told me the story.  
  
But what was done was done and those who suffered had suffered and those who'd died had died. There is nothing I can do about it.  
  
Paris, it was clear had never told anybody the truth in years or so. I have to say that I am honored to have heard it from him. But I still hated him.  
  
I could not explain it. I had no pity for his terrible fate.  
  
I then proceeded back to Madame Aldara's house where some women of the village were getting ready for tonight's festival. There was cooking everywhere.  
  
We cooked for the rest of the afternoon and come late afternoon, they all proceeded to get ready and beautify themselves. I didn't bother to. Nobody bothered me about it either.  
  
I went home as they were beginning to get ready.  
  
Nobody was home, not even Paris who had started to befriend my father and Cyril. They were all probably doing their part for the festival.  
  
I paced around my empty room. I sat down on the bed and closed my eyes. In my mind, for some strange reason, my mother appeared. She, unlike me, was beautiful And she, unlike me, was dead.  
  
I imagined her soft laughter echoing through the house like it used to. I imagined her voice singing those songs she used to sing. She told me she sang those songs a lot when she was young and had just fallen in love with father.  
  
I cried. Then, as if it wasn't imagination I felt her arms encircle around me and wiping my tears. I sang one of her songs.  
  
'Why do I feel the need to hold you?  
I have suffered love so new  
So true'  
  
And so I went on singing. Just then, I remembered something. I went to the trunk at the foot of my bed. All my mother's belongings were there.  
  
I took out the dress she wore when she met my father at this same festival. It was of blue and green silks that shimmered.  
  
I put kohl on my eyes and I let my hair down. I placed a veil over my head. I took one of the brass pans from the kitchen and eyed my self in it.  
  
For a moment, I thought that I was looking at my mother's ghost.

* * *

I was late for the festival. The women were dancing for the men. It was outdoors and a blazing fire was burning it the middle of it all. Music could be heard and played everywhere.  
  
I spotted Cyril and I walked over covering the lower half of my face with my veil. He was staring at the woman he loved. She held her child in her arms and she would glance back guiltily at him as well. They knew that they were both in love but refused to admit it. I sat down beside him. He didn't recognize me.  
  
"Cyril, It's me, Ara" I said, revealing my face. He still didn't recognize me. Maybe it was the way the light of the fire played with me.  
  
"Ara?" he managed to say. "Where did you get that dress?" he added.  
  
"It used to be my mother's." I whispered back.  
  
He let out a boyish laugh, "Since when did you care to dress for occasion?" he asked.  
  
"I don't know what came over me. But whatever you are thinking, this is for my mother." I said.  
  
Soon, my father joined us. He was also surprised at my appearance but suddenly; his face was filled with sadness. He remembered my mother.  
  
"Ara, your mother's ghost has possessed you tonight." My father said. He kissed my forehead and told me I was beautiful. They were making a big deal out of this.  
  
But I couldn't blame them. A lot of people didn't recognize me as well. To my surprise, a few men asked me to dance with them. Even married ones.  
  
I refused.  
  
I spotted Paris in a corner. He was with two beautiful women who were both trying to catch his attention. He didn't bother to flirt back. He then excused himself and tore away from them.  
  
Madame Aldara, surprisingly, recognized me and told me to serve the wine. She also told me not to dress like that. I was making all the women jealous. I served the wine. Some men called for their cups to be refilled only to get my attention. When I cast them a look, they stopped 'trying'.  
  
I was a strong girl. I did not play those kind of games.  
  
Just then, Paris called to me. He was a few meters away but he recognized me and called my name. I stopped serving the wine and went to him.  
  
"Ara, there's something I want to tell you." He said. He took my hand in his and I didn't protest.  
  
He walked me towards a small hill. It was quiet and we could see the whole festival before us.  
  
He motioned me to sit down with him. We sat there in silence for a moment watching the celebration. Then, He put an arm around me and brought me to the ground. He kissed me softly. "Oh, Ara." He moaned. Then he began to transfer down my neck and continued saying my name in passionate whispers and moans.  
  
This whole time I was struggling to get out. I finally gathered enough strength to push him away. I stood up.  
  
"What are you doing!" I almost said in a scream.  
  
He backed away too. For a moment, it was as if he had just realized what he had attempted to do.  
  
"I'm sorry. I've never done that to any woman in years since . . .since . . ." then, he suddenly broke into tears. It was Helen.  
  
I knelt down beside him and patted his back. "She's happy now. But she will always love you." I said.  
  
I didn't want to comfort him but for the first time, I pitied him.  
  
"Will you ever forgive me?" he said in between his sobs.  
  
I looked into the sky.  
  
"Maybe not." I said. Then I took his hand in mine and we walked back home.  
  
He settled himself in my bed and quickly fell asleep. I tore of my mother's dress and washed my face. I got into my sleeping robes.  
  
Before I went to sleep in Cyril's room, I checked on him in my room.  
  
He was awake. "I feel so lonely, Ara." He whispered in the dark.  
  
"Me too." I said.   
  
I sat by my mother's trunk and fell asleep there. 


	6. Daydream

Chapter 6  
  
Okay...my rule is: you review and I'll update. First of all, thanks so much for reviewing. I can't update unless I know people are reading my story otherwise it becomes a waste of my time and efforts.

* * *

I woke up that morning in my own bed. I was still tired so I tried to go back to sleep. It isn't like me to stay in bed.  
  
Just then I remembered that I didn't fall asleep on my bed. I quickly shook myself out of sleep. I looked around my room and I was alone. Where was Paris? He wasn't anywhere. He must've gone to work with father and Cyril.  
  
Last night made me tired.  
  
I slumped back down and closed my eyes. I couldn't sleep.  
  
It just dawned on me that Paris kissed me. I've been kissed. I've been kissed by the man who started a war so great. Was he just drunk last night? No, his speech was not slurred and I did not taste the wine in his mouth. Yes, it was a quick and soft kiss but he we were still able to taste each other.  
  
He wasn't drunk.  
  
I was very confused. Does he have feelings for me? Of course not. What was I thinking? Paris. One of the most beautiful men on earth and the most beautiful man I've seen...how could he love me? And besides, I hated him.  
  
I must ignore this strange feeling I am getting. It's like a feeling of dizziness, a feeling of happiness, of guilt and...a strange yearning for more. Am I falling in love? I couldn't be.  
  
Love is a distraction. Love is something that kills. It starts by writhing inside one person's heart. Tugging at you and screaming at you.  
  
I can't have that. But why does it feel as if it's starting? I can't be. The only reason I'm thinking like this is because it was my first kiss.  
  
Should I ask Paris about it? Would he think it foolish of me to ask? Of course he would. The only reason he kissed me was because I was the one he knew the most. But all the other women were much more prettier than I.  
  
Were they?  
  
I had almost forgotten that I was beautiful that night.  
  
Whatever his reasons were I must promise myself to never bring it up. He obviously still had feelings for Helen.  
  
The moment she entered my mind I felt a short sting of hate. It was very short, though.

* * *

That night at dinner the men were in a lively conversation.  
  
I was too deep in my thoughts. Paris gave no notice and acted as if nothing happened. It just dawned on me that if I were to tell Cyril and father about what Paris did (or tried) to do to me he would be in big trouble. Unless we were in love with each other. Which we weren't.  
  
Suddenly, before Cyril took a sip from his drink he said, "Oh, Ara, I noticed that you and Paris disappeared early during the festival. I saw you two go off somewhere together."  
  
It was silent. Paris looked at me. I looked at him. Father looked at both of us. Cyril put down his drink and then joined father.  
  
It was a long uncomfortable silence.  
  
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I was lucky that Paris had something to say.  
  
"We walked up the hill to admire the festival from a top." He said.  
  
I nodded.  
  
They still call him Alexander because they did not know that he was Paris. And that's just what Cyril called him when he asked Alexander to have a talk with him outside the house. I was told to go to my room first.  
  
I quickly ran and sat near my window. Little did they know that I could hear every word.  
  
"Alexander." Went Cyril's voice. He repeated 'Alexander' a couple of times then finally asked,  
  
"What really happened between you and my cousin?"  
  
"Nothing that exists in your mind, Cyril."  
  
"Tell me the truth!"  
  
"Do you think that I would hurt her in my state of mind, boy?"  
  
There was silence, as if Cyril had realized that he was younger that Paris. He was eighteen during Troy, it's been ten years now. Cyril is twenty-one. And I am fourteen.  
  
"Fine, then. I do not accuse you of doing anything such as that to her. But surely if any...intimacy occurred that night then surely you must have corrupted my cousin." I heard Cyril said.  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
"I know Ara and she isn't in love with you."  
  
There was silence again.  
  
I didn't know what to do. Should I run outside? What would I do.  
  
At this point Cyril must've known that something happened that night. But if I told him the truth he wouldn't understand what Paris still felt for Helen. If I told him the truth, the results will not benift in anything. He would surely send Paris out. Cyril has suspicions and those suspicions are not to be toyed with.  
  
I made up my mind and ran outside.  
  
They were still in that scary silence.  
  
As if I wasn't thinking, I grabbed Paris' arm and exclaimed, "I love him. Please, Cyril don't hurt him."  
  
Cyril looked bewildered. He stared at us. Did he looked convinced? He must've. Because at that moment, as if he had lost some battle, he went back inside the house without a word.  
  
Paris looked at me, shocked.  
  
Then he smiled his amazing smile. He bent over and kissed me. This time I let him. I wondered what power he possessed to give me such an amazing kiss. I held him close.  
  
But I remembered Helen and how he still must've felt about her. I pulled away.  
  
"No." I said.  
  
"I don't love you." I whispered.  
  
"And you don't love me as well." I added.  
  
I tried to pull my whole self away but he held on. "Ara, I'm alone and so are you." He said.  
  
Then he kissed me again.  
  
Deep inside I knew I wanted him but I also knew he didn't love me the way I did. Both of us being lonley, isn't a reason to be together.

* * *

While I was writing this chapter, Avril's song, 'Daydream' started playing and I realized that it pretty much fits my story at this point. Listen to it after reading this chapter. 


	7. Laughter

_Dear Lindsay,  
  
First of all, I totally accept your 'constructive criticism'.  
  
However, when at the end you mentioned:  
  
"... They did bug me and they might bug a few others who won't hesitate to flame you for a few small inaccuracies."  
  
It made me wonder whether it was just plain constructive criticism or some kind of dis. But don't worry, I don't mind people saying bad stuff about me and the stuff I do because, that's life.  
  
So, were you correcting me to help me write a better story? Or were you just dissing me? I'd like to know because your review was quite unclear.  
  
So, sorry, I guess for not researching properly. I know how you feel and I, too was offended when the movie made a zillion mistakes.  
  
-Yeah, the dialogue was a bit too modern, I admit. I guess you can blame it on the songs that I play while writing. (Can I help it if my band keeps on giving me new songs to listen to and learn?) I have a hard time thinking straight (as you can see) _

_-I read in a history book about Greece that his other name was Alexander. _

_-Helen was the daughter of the king of Sparta making her a princess. And, due to a book I read, she was called a Spartan princess until the day she married Menelaus. Her father (the king of Sparta) handed the kingdom over to Menelaus and so she became Queen.  
  
I guess I should be grateful that you didn't flame me while others will. Thanks for the warning.  
  
I am so sorry I bugged you.  
  
Basically, what I'm trying to say here is, I don't know how to classify your review.  
  
Ciao and arigatou.  
  
-Unreal reality 56  
  
P.S. I just read my whole letter and I realized that you might take some parts as a hint of sarcasm. There was no sarcasm in this letter.  
_

__

* * *

We sat together one night.  
  
We were by my olive tree, Paris and I. He sat down beside me started playing on his flute. I lay down on the grass, closed my eyes and listened.  
  
The tune was soft, lonely, and haunting. Then, the music stopped and I felt his lips warm against mine. He had placed a light kiss on my mouth, and then on my forehead.  
  
He started tracing his fingers teasingly on my forehead.  
  
"Don't do that."  
  
I said. I didn't like the ticklish feeling it gave me. He just laughed. I opened my eyes and sat right back up to face him.  
  
He placed his fingers on my forehead and began tracing again. I swatted him off.  
  
"I told you to stop." I told him seriously. He laughed again.  
  
I turned away from him and it was silent for a moment. Then, I felt his arms encircling me and he brought me into an embrace. He was leaning against the Olive tree and he brought me to lean against him.  
  
We stayed silent for a few moments . . .sighing from time to time.  
  
"Are you happy?" I asked him.  
  
"Are you, Ara?" he asked me.  
  
There are so many nights when I am all alone in Cyril's bed and I wonder what it would be like. I would imagine Paris and I married and sleeping on the same bed on nights such as these. Would I have that feeling in my gut? That feeling of jealousy and uncertainty? Would my dreams be haunted of his never-ending love for Helen?  
  
When he plays with my children will I see that look in his eyes? A look that tells me this should've all happened with another woman?  
  
"Yes, I'm happy." Is what I hear myself say.

* * *

That night I tried to sleep again. He crept into the room and lay under the covers with me.  
  
We kissed passionately under the blankets and his hands were going up and down my sides teasingly trying to undress me. Then I playfully pushed him away.  
  
"You can't be here. My father will kill you!" I whisper to him warningly.  
  
"Then let him kill me." He whispers back and then we fall into a fit of whispery laughter. Then he starts to kiss me all over again but this time his kisses daringly go below my face.  
  
"Make love to me." He whispers and then buries his face into my neck. With every strength that I have I pushed him away for real.  
  
"No." I say. I pull of the covers try to push him off the bed as quietly as possible.  
  
"Why not?" he asks.  
  
"That's self-explanatory!" I tell him. He can get annoying.  
  
"Fine. Be that way." He feigns anger and leaves. I can hear his whispered laughs.  
  
I get under my covers and laugh too.Then my laughter stops and I am brought into a state of half-sleep.  
  
It suddenly dawns on me that he and I will never make love. Not real love because I know in my heart that he does not love me.


End file.
